


One in a Million

by FancyMeetingYouHere



Category: GOT7
Genre: Confessions, DYE promotions, He's a good leader, Jaebeom loves cats more than life, Jaebeom needs to kick these idiots into gear, M/M, Mark and Jackson being oblivious, Soft boys being soft, Some angst, fluff at the end, happy ending because I'm a sucker for my boys being happy, markson, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27407485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyMeetingYouHere/pseuds/FancyMeetingYouHere
Summary: Markson are best friends, everyone knows that. Jaebeom knows it better than most, as does the rest of GOT7, and their friendship is hardly something Jaebeom should be concerned about. Until it is.aka.Everything is fine until the DYE promotions. And then it's not.
Relationships: Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 25
Kudos: 127





	One in a Million

**Author's Note:**

> I literally started this right after DYE promotions ended ... and only now managed to fill in the missing piece in the middle. Whoops?  
> For everyone waiting for an update on Hey, Stranger; it's coming. I'm way behind, I'm so sorry, but I have another chapter and a half written and am just struggling with some plot related things. It will come, though! In the meantime, maybe this piece of angst and fluff will sate your hunger. If you could, let me know what you think!
> 
> Enjoy!

Two weeks after Jackson and Youngjae switched rooms at the dorm, Jaebeom walks in on Jackson sitting on his bed, blank eyes staring straight ahead. It’s not uncommon to catch the younger boy sunken deep into his thoughts, but the wetness in Jackson’s eyes might be cause for concern.

It’s late and Jaebeom’s tired, but he’s the leader. Usually.

“You okay?” he poses carefully, watching how the younger blinks once, then goes right back to staring.

After about two seconds of I’m-not-old-enough-to-deal-with-this, the other speaks up. His voice is barely a whisper, a terrified quality making him sound small and defenseless.

“I have a crush on Mark.”

_Oh crap._

He’s the leader, sure enough, but no one ever gave him any pointers on how to navigate _this._ First off, does that mean Jackson’s gay? It’s not a problem, but possibly something they’ll need to address what with their fanservice being very much directed towards girls. Is that a problem for Jackson? Does that make him uncomfortable? Is it even a _thing?_

Secondly … shit

_It had to be Mark._

Because Jackson and Mark are the best friends out of all of them so far, hence the need for Markson practically 24/7. They charm the fans and make sure the other five can have a little more time to grow into their respective ‘ships’, demanding attention in the way only Jackson’s hyper-activeness can. Honestly, Jaebeom isn’t sure how Mark - quiet, careful, keeps-to-himself Mark - puts up with it.

But that’s a question for when Jaebeom isn’t frozen after the admission of one of his friends (members, dongsengs, fuck, why am I the leader again?) having a crush on another. (Perhaps not technically a dongseng, but Mark’s cute enough to be mistaken for one.)

After the racing thoughts that take all of two seconds to pass, he manages to open his mouth. “Oh.”

They fall into silence again because for the life of him Jaebeom can’t figure out if this needs addressing from ‘the leader’ or simply ‘Jaebeom’, and if it even needs addressing at all. (It’s late, he’s tired, what is _happening?)_

In the end Jackson sighs, long and exhausted. He stands up, shoving his hand through his hair. “Imma go shower,” he mumbles.

Just before he’s out the door, Jaebeom decides Jackson’s shoulders look much too gloomy and he reassures somewhat bewildered. “I don’t mind.”

All that gets him is a wobbly smile before Jackson’s gone.

So. Yeah.

Why is he the leader again?

The matter isn’t brought up again for the next few days, it being systematically shoved down on the list of ‘important things because I am the leader’ until Jaebeom manages to a) remember, and b) get Jackson alone during a shoot.

He doesn’t get any further than raising his eyebrows before Jackson is chuckling. “All good,” he says with a clap to Jaebeom’s shoulders. “I’m all good.”

“Jackson,” he starts, feeling he should say something a little more profound than ‘oh’, but the younger gives him a pained and pleading look.

“It’s not my first crush, dude. Probably won’t be my last. I just freaked out a little because of-” Jackson twirls a finger at the cameras and general idol-ness that has become their life and Jaebeom grimaces.

_Yeah._

“It’s all good,” Jackson promises one last time with a smile. As if to prove his point, he skips off and almost tackles Mark in a back-hug, the two friends laughing loudly as they chase each other around the set.

Okay. Alright.

He nods to himself, forcing his nerves back down. He’s got this. He can be the leader.

If Jackson is okay and Mark is okay and Markson is _okay_ , then there’s really no more reason to go digging deeper, not the least because he has about five other things that require doing, one of which is kick the maknaes into gear and remember to tell Jinyoung about the fact his shoot got postponed tomorrow. Also, the director needed a word and the manager-

Yeah. So, maybe he’s still learning. But, hey.

At least the members are fine.

Mostly.

There are fights. Sometimes. They get bad. Sometimes. But mostly it’s a whirlwind of comebacks and worries and members branching out and _Jackson_ branching out which almost gives Jinyoung an ulcer from worrying.

But it’s all fine.

They’re all fine.

* * *

(Until it’s six years later and they’re going back to their roots, doing new performances of their debut song and bringing back the old ships while rehashing the stories that started off GOT7.

It’s all fine until the DYE promotions. And then it’s not.)

* * *

Something wakes Jaebeom up a full three hours before his alarm is supposed to go off. At first, he glares darkly at his ceiling, eyes wide-open due to having slept no more than four hours, a fatigue headache already pounding in the back of his head. When it becomes clear he’s not going to go back to sleep, he sloppily dresses himself in sweatpants and a t-shirt to fight off the chill in the air, then starts shuffling to the kitchen.

It's four am and he wants food or he _will_ stab someone.

He flicks on the light, blinking into the brightness, before zeroing in on his fridge and deciding food is probably too much to ask of his stomach. He settles on a nice packet of strawberry milk instead. As he’s sipping the cool liquid, relishing how it pools in his stomach, he flicks off the light again and starts to go back to his bedroom.

Which is when he freezes, straw falling out from between his slack lips.

Where are his cats?

They always wake up when he does, meowing as if they haven’t been fed for days no matter the time. Or at least, Nora no longer does, but the others…

He turns in the dark with a frown, shuffling to the living room. What on earth have those whacky felines gotten into this time? The light doesn’t hurt his eyes as much when he turns it on, having already gotten used to it in the kitchen, but he still stops in the doorway and blinks.

_That explains why the cats didn’t come._

With disbelief dogging his steps he stalks into the room, rounding on the person hogging both his couch and his cats. He’d thought he’d recognized the hair, but he’d honestly convinced himself there’s no way.

Turns out, he’s wrong.

“Mark?” he blinks dumbly, eyeing his older friend with nothing short of trepidation. The other is slouched on the couch, head leaning back and eyes closed. He’s wearing sweatpants and a giant hoodie along with a leather jacket. He’s also holding a – Jaebeom squints – a nearly empty bottle of red wine.

He blinks again. “What the fuck.”

Mark doesn’t react beyond sighing and shifting deeper into the cushions. He’s not asleep, otherwise the bottle wouldn’t still be in his grip. There’s also the small point of Muffin lying curled against Mark’s thigh and his hand moving lazily to pet her contently purring side.

Okay. So. When he gave the other the code to his door for emergencies, this is _not_ what he had in mind.

“What the hell-” he grinds out, though it mostly sounds tired-, “are you _doing_ here, hyung.” He drops his strawberry milk on the coffee table, taking a seat on the trusted piece of wood until his knees lightly brush Mark’s. After a second of silence the older huffs, picking his head up and squinting at Jaebeom.

That’s when the so-maniest peculiarity sinks in. Mark’s eyes are a suspicious red, deep circles standing out in his otherwise pale skin as a light stubble sits on his chin and upper lip. In all honesty, he looks wrecked, and that’s without the obvious clue he’s been drinking.

Mark doesn’t do drunk. He barely does tipsy, though that has more to do with his ridiculous tolerance than any desire to stay away from alcohol.

It takes Jaebeom a moment to formulate the question, Mark using the time to drag himself up which earns him a disapproving meow from the rest of the couch. The cats almost glare in unison, though for once Jaebeom barely takes notice.

“Have you been crying?” Jaebeom breaks the silence, finally recognizing the tear tracks on Mark’s face for what they are. Ice settles in his gut. As much as they tease him in interviews, Mark doesn’t just cry for no reason. “Hyung, what happened?” He puts a hand on Mark’s knee, having to hold back from physically making the other tell him.

Needless to say, nothing like this has ever happened before. At least, not with Mark. His friend smiles at him, but there’s a world of pain hiding behind it. Mark licks his lips. “Did I wake you up?” he mumbles.

Jaebeom needs more restraint than he can muster in the middle of the night to keep from snapping, meaning he’s already yanked the bottle out of Mark’s hands before the other can even move to drain the rest.

“Stop,” he orders, plonking the bottle with a loud thud on the wooden table. Mark doesn’t even flinch. “What do you think you’re doing? And I’m not talking about the nightly break-in, which is already crossing a lot of lines, but what the _hell_ are you doing!” He glares at him, fueled by worry and anger. “We’re in the middle of a comeback!”

“Finished,” Mark finally speaks up again, eyes seemingly burning behind his floppy bangs. His face goes sour as he speaks. “We’re _done._ Yesterday was our last show.” He sounds sad, almost angry about that, and Jaebeom groans.

“Please, do _not_ tell me you’re sulking on my couch in some sort of drunken stupor because you’re _sad_ it all ended sooner than usual. And you know we still have interviews, solo-schedules, a _heck of a lot more,”_ he hisses. Only his words don’t do what they’re supposed to. They don’t pull Mark out of his funk, don’t even make him angry or annoyed to start explaining what all this madness is about. He simply smiles without feeling a second time, a terrifying tear rolling slowly down his cheek.

“Yup,” he pops the ‘p’, gaze looking but not seeing. “Solo-schedules.” A second tear follows and he’s suddenly no older than ten, face crestfallen and white as he glares gloomily at Jaebeom’s rug.

Honestly. Fuck Mark and his fucking cryptic personality.

Jaebeom groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as the headache from before starts to spread. There’s nothing else coming from his friend, nothing but a quiet sniffle, and Jaebeom drags a hand through his hair to get it out of his face. He regards Mark with tired eyes, mentally apologizing to the other members for what he might be forced to do.

“Two choices,” he says, strained. “Either you tell me what the hell this is all about, and I mean _in Korean_ , or I’m calling Jackson to make sure you’ll have no other language to hide in.” Because for an adult, Mark’s still much too prone to randomly using languages to weasel his way out of things. The response to his threat is not precisely what he’d been expecting, though in a way, it’s successful. Mark slumps, head down and fingers fiddling with his sleeves. He snorts wetly.

“You’ll call Jackson,” he hiccups, his longer hair hiding his face. “Not like I would mind.”

That … that’s weird. Quite possibly the weirdest thing of this entire interaction, and that’s saying something. Mark is wildly protective of Jackson’s sleeping habits, him and Jinyoung being Jackson’s personal health-care squad. So, for Mark to _not care_ about Jaebeom potentially waking the younger up … now he’s worried again.

“Talk to me,’ he tries in a calmer tone, shifting so he can place his hands on Mark’s knees, trying but failing to catch the other’s eyes. “Will you just _talk to me.”_

Surprisingly, it works.

“I think I need to leave GOT7,” Mark drops into his lap like an active bomb. The words slap him in the face, making him recoil as he gapes at his friend.

“How much did you drink?” he blurts out. Because _no way_ is Mark in his right mind.

The hypothesis is blown out of the water as Mark slowly looks up, eyes red from tears but _clear_. Like he said, Mark doesn’t do drunk. The ice in his stomach hardens and he shakes his head. “Something happened. Sure, I can get that. But _this!_ This is _not_ the answer. Talk to me, Mark.” He remembers the earlier incongruous comment and squeezes Mark’s legs, afraid to move his eyes away from the dark pools in front. “And if you want to talk to Jackson instead, that’s okay. I can call him. Whatever this is, we can deal with it. The seven of us,” he stresses. Just in case the idiot managed to forget after half a bottle.

They’re _GOT7_ , meaning the other six are just as invested in this as Mark. Quite possibly more as the man has a nasty habit of forgetting himself. It’s not as bad as Jackson, but enough to be worrying. After seven years of being the leader, he knows that much.

Though clearly, he doesn’t know _enough_ , because Mark simply blinks away a fresh wave of tears, lip red from all the gnawing he’s been doing. “It’s not that kind of a problem,” he croaks, then purses his lips and pushes his cheek out with his tongue. Not good.

“Hyung,-”

“I’m in love with Jackson,” is the silent confession that stills him. It hangs in the air, Mark’s eyes never leaving his and the older’s face does something painful at whatever he sees in Jaebeom’s expression.

The words dredge up an ancient memory, plague him with blank eyes staring at a wall as Jackson’s voice echoes in his head. No _fucking_ way.

“Ja- _Jackson?”_ he stutters because it’s both the most obvious thing in the world and a bucket of ice-water over his head. His inability to formulate a single thought is not helped by the early hour and Mark’s eyes steadily boring into his. His hyung really has a habit of looking at someone until his gaze seems to devour them. Though, fun fact, the only one who’s never complained about that is Jackson.

_Jackson._

_Holy fuck._

“Yeah,” Mark chuckles so painfully it almost makes Jaebeom want to cry as well. His hyung hunches in on himself, gaze falling to the floor. “I thought I was over it. I thought I could do this. Turns out I can’t.” He sniffs loudly, suspicious liquid dripping onto his lap before he can rub a hand over his once again hidden face.

Jaebeom is so confused, still berating himself for the fact his friends are both idiots, and he’s quite possibly even worse because _hell it’s so obvious,_ meaning he misses most of that and only catches the last bit. Can’t what? He blinks at Mark, drawing on his very limited experience with confessions and _feelings_ to try and make sense of this. “You can’t be in love with him?” He hadn’t been expecting a laugh, no matter the fact it sounds like Mark would much rather be crying again.

“That’s also true,” he answers in his low voice, something between a sob and a sigh coming out. “But I mostly can’t _not_ love him, which is-” his breath hitches, “which is why I can’t stay.”

For the sake of not making an epic mistake (again), Jaebeom repeats with the utmost incredulousness. “You’re in love with Jackson and _that’s_ why you think you should leave?”

Mark’s tired, angry stare assures him that this is very much the case, and that he does not appreciate Jaebeom’s reaction.

Well. Screw that.

“Mark,” he intentionally makes it sounds like he’s talking to a child, drawing in a large breath to keep from losing his patience altogether. “You’re an idiot.” It’s the onset to a brilliant rant that’ll involve one too many curse words for Jinyoung to normally listen to, but before Jaebeom can even start, Mark’s suddenly in his face.

Literally.

The older grabs his shirt and yanks him closer, eyes furious as he snaps. “No, _you’re_ an idiot! Because I can’t do this _JB!_ I thought I could stay his best friend, that if Jinyoung kept him busy I could just be a sulky little shadow for a while and _get over it_ , but I can’t!” His eyes are wild and narrowed, breath hitting Jaebeom’s face in all its alcoholic glory. Mark’s a bit more than wrecked and it’s honestly terrifying. He yanks on Jaebeom’s shirt again and keeps going, words spilling out of him for the first time in years. All in Korean. “I had to sit there and fake-flirt with him, watch him fake-flirt with _me,_ all for the sake of bringing the former ships back! I had to do Markson all over again while I barely survived that the last time! I can’t take all this fucking attention he’s suddenly giving me because it’s all _fake_ and _not real_ and it’ll end the second our solo-schedules start and I’ll have to rip myself away from him a second time and pretend it doesn’t kill me and _I can’t do that again!”_ He pushes Jaebeom back with enough force to almost topple him, the younger just able to catch himself on the edge of the table. Then Mark folds in on himself. Heaving breaths that are obvious attempts to keep from sobbing are all that fill the apartment, Mark’s head pillowed in his shaking hands.

There are no more cats on the couch, Jaebeom notices. They must’ve all left somewhere during Mark’s rant. Which … wow. He had no idea this went so deep, or this far back. The implications all hit at the same time and suddenly Jaebeom’s no longer sure he was ever a good leader, let alone an adequate one. To be fair, his members could have communicated all of this a lot better, but still. This is a mess.

He clears his throat, not sure what to make of the shaking man in front of him. Mark’s not one to lose his cool, not like this, and the absence of a Jinyoung or Jackson-sized buffer is sorely missed. “Just to clarify,” he starts, which, he hates how much like a dad he sounds, but there’s no other way to do this presenting itself in his brain. He soldiers on when Mark doesn’t start shouting again. “You liked Jackson during debut. Or right after, at least. And now you’ve realized you never stopped?”

It's either a nod, or a particularly large shudder. Whatever, Jaebeom will go with it. “And you’re worried about messing up the group dynamics,” he ends with a sigh. It’s half a guess, half a normal fear whenever there’s a big fight, meaning he doesn’t even need Mark’s second nod to know he’s right. The other lets out a grating laugh that’s cringe-worthy.

“I’m already messing it up,” he tells the floor, head still in his hands. “I almost went to his instead of coming here. I almost-” he laughs decrepitly at himself, dragging his hands down his face as he locks eyes with Jaebeom. His friend truly looks like his world shattered, like the light went out behind his eyes and he’s grasping in the dark. It’s not a look Jaebeom ever wanted to see on Mark, not after already having seen it on Jackson, and he moves to grab the other’s upper arms in a sudden fear the older will simply fade away if he doesn’t.

He's not panicking just yet, but there’s definite fear in his gut. “You’re making this much too big and much too bad in your head,” he tries to ground him, though Mark’s face stays grave and disbelieving.

“I’m not,” he croaks. “You don’t-” he chokes, his voice lowering to a whisper as if the words are heretical to even say. “I could barely make myself stop before. But he’s my friend, and there was Jinson, and I could remind myself of what I had to do, how I had to _act._ And I- I did it. It became _routine_ , but now,” he goes pained, eyes almost begging and Jaebeom has never thought of Mark as _young_ before, but right now he feels the insane desire to grab the older man and tuck him into his chest. Why the _hell_ didn’t Mark say something _sooner_. Mark shakes his head, new tears falling. “Now I don’t know where the line is anymore,” he sounds scared of his own admission. “I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t, what to do and what _not_ to do. I can’t pretend because for me it’s _real_ and Jackson- Jackson’s really good at pretending,” He gulps, the alcohol apparently enough to make him painfully honest for once. “Making myself stop last time was- it was _hard,_ I can’t-” he gives Jaebeom the most painfully apologetic look in existence. “I don’t think I can do that again. I’m sorry. I’m-”

“Stop,” Jaebeom shakes him softly, head dizzy with all these admissions. The fact that Mark, a man who broke through as an idol in a country he didn’t even grew up in, let alone spoke the language of, is saying something is _hard_ , is enough to make all the alarm bells go off. But, first things first.

“This is the alcohol talking,” Jaebeom tells him sternly, not booking any room for argument. “You’re drunk,” even though Mark probably isn’t, “and you need at least four hours of sleep before we’re continuing this conversation.” Mostly because Jaebeom needs some time to figure out if his current hunch is correct, and Mark truly looks like his spirit is breaking. It’s too terrifying to watch to think clearly.

“That won’t-” Mark starts, but Jaebeom cuts him off with another shake of his head.

“Sleep,” he orders. The beginnings of a plan are in his head but it mostly hinges on Mark getting some shut-eye. He gets a half-hearted glare and uses the angry chin to show he’s not changing his mind. Mark pushes his tongue into his cheek again, and it’s a loaded silence to see who will give in first. The alcohol decides for them as Mark sighs, hanging his head.

“Wake me up before the car gets here,” he mumbles, but Jaebeom snatches his arm and yanks on it, not about to let Mark ruin his back on a couch if there’s a perfectly good bed down the hall. It’s not like Jaebeom will be using it.

“Bedroom,” he tells him, waving a hand in the general direction. Mark blinks, then cracks a watery smile.

“Good thing I came here instead of going to Jackson’s,” he chuckles wetly as he stands up, waving away Jaebeom’s helping hand. The joke, because _of course_ Mark is joking to try and fix the mood, only makes Jaebeom frown at his unsteady friend.

He sighs as he watches Mark shuffle into the hallway, honestly feeling like he just gained a full five years. “Just get some sleep!” he yells after him, receiving the opening and closing of his bedroom door as an answer.

Okay. Great. Now to fix this epic mess before they have to be at the recording studio in a little under five hours.

No pressure.

Nora pokes her head around the doorway and blinks at him, almost asking him if the shouting is done now. He sighs as she slowly walks in, eventually curling around his legs and purring as he scratches her back. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he softly tells her as she jumps onto the couch with a little difficulty, curling into a ball and resuming her earlier nap. Muffin and Kunta join her after a few seconds, the others either having found new places, or too awake to go back to napping.

He sighs as he watches them install themselves, dragging a hand through his hair. “Why can’t they be more like you guys, huh,” he mumbles, then sighs again as he plucks his phone out of his pocket. If only GOT7 would consist out of cats, he’d have this leadership-thing down pat.

But nope, he has to deal with six somewhat emotionally stunted grown men (though that last bit is debatable), and scrolls through his contacts to find the one he needs. Nora gives him a side-eyed look, as if telling him he shouldn’t forget himself in that assessment.

He grins as he strokes her fur, agreeing quickly. “Okay, fine. the seven of us are all whacked in some way.” He leans forward to give her a soft kiss on her head, the phone ringing in his ear. “Thanks for putting up with me,” he tells her, to which she meowls happily before burrowing back into her ball.

Oh yes. Jaebeom prefers cats.

He goes back into the kitchen to give them some peace for napping, flicking on the light and ending up leaning on the counter as he listens to the ringing on repeat. “Come on, Jackson,” he whispers, rubbing his forehead as the pounding gets worse. He’ll probably need painkillers to get through today.

Just before the ringing can switch over to voicemail, the line crackles and Jackson’s voice comes through half-asleep. It’s neither Korean nor English, meaning the other did not look at the caller-ID before picking up.

“It’s Jaebeom,” he tells the younger with a sigh, already dreading this next bit but aware it needs to happen sooner rather than later. Mark’s ‘I think I need to leave GOT7’ is on repeat in his head and it’s nauseating to say the least.

Jackson grunts, finally locating his Korean. “Whaz happened?” Or, at least _mostly_ locating his Korean.

The light reflects off the counter and Jaebeom glares at it, then releases a sigh. “It’s about Mark,” he says softly. “I need your help.”

* * *

Jaebeom’s question is at least half-answered when he opens the door to a worried, still-in-his-pajamas-but-also-sporting-a-leather-jacket-and-bucket-hat Jackson who pretty much barrels inside the second the gap of the door is wide enough. Jaebeom blinks at the hurried man, then rolls his eyes as he closes the door. “Come right in,” he sighs.

Jackson stops in the living room, opting to just stand and fidget in place when he throws a look at the couch and spots the five cats dominating it. He yanks off his hat and face mask and pins Jaebeom down with a stare, voice rough from sleep. “You said Mark was here and needed to talk to me.” He flings out his arms in a well-where-is-he motion and Jaebeom _really_ should have taken his painkillers sooner. They won’t kick in for another half-hour and Jackson looks a strange combination of worried and pissed.

For both their sakes, he decides the honest and straight-forward approach is the best. “Mark’s sleeping,” he tells him with a stern look. “So keep your voice down. And the thing I need help with is whether or not you still like him.”

Jackson freezes, mouth dropping as he regards Jaebeom with wide eyes. “What’s that got to do with anything?” he croaks, hands nervously wringing his hat.

Honestly. “Everything,” Jaebeom tries to keep his voice calm and give the other a soft look. He doesn’t want to spook Jackson, but he will need to just throw this on the younger because he has _no clue_ how to do it carefully and they’re also on a bit of a clock. “Remember when you told me you had a crush on Mark?”

As expected, Jackson does, and he lets out an incredulous laugh. “That was years ago,” his eyes roam the room, unable to focus on Jaebeom. “I told you, I’m good. You don’t have to worry-”

_Again with the worry!_

“I’m not,” he snaps, then reels in his own volume. Jackson still won’t look at him. “I’m not worried about two of my best friends being in love, alright. And I know you worry about GOT7 and Mark does too, but this is _not_ going to do us in!” He huffs and rolls his eyes when Jackson finally glances back up, face white and expression shocked. “Jackson,” he sighs, only to be interrupted by the younger stammering.

“Love? How- I didn’t-” he drags in a deep breath when Jaebeom blinks at him, eyebrows flying up. _“Two_ of my best friends?!”

It takes a second of blinking before Jaebeom catches his mistake. In his defense, it’s much too early for this. He groans when Jackson keeps gaping at him, running another tired hand through his hair and hissing when it snags on knots. Long hair is a pain sometimes.

“Yes,” he sighs, not seeing any benefit in backing out now. Mark might kill him for blowing his secret, but these two are remarkably bad at communicating for a pair of guys able to speak in three languages. It gets him a strangled sound that might be a laugh and he stares tiredly at Jackson, seeing the younger’s face go from ‘yeah right’ to ‘holy shit’ and nodding as the other gets it.

“You’re sure?” Jackson whispers in a tone that’s almost hopeful. If Jaebeom hadn’t been sure about Jackson’s feelings for Mark before, he is now.

He points a thumb at the coffee table and then rubs his aching temples. “I found him sitting on my couch drinking _that_ and talking about how he has to leave GOT7 because he’s in love with you, so yeah, I’m pretty sure.” He gives Jackson’s horrified face a knowing look. “He’s not leaving, okay. He was nearing on drunk and having a rough time, so just, don’t freak out about that.” Mainly because Jaebeom is _still_ freaking out about it and if they just treat it like the nonsense they want it to be, then hopefully that’s all it will ever be.

The following silence is thick and heavy, Jackson’s eyes glued to the bottle as his mouth opens and closes multiple times without sound. Eventually he turns back to Jaebeom with a gulp, years added to the lines around his eyes and mouth. “I see,” he says without any emotion. “So that’s a problem, then.”

Are they still talking about the same thing? Jaebeom squints at Jackson, fairly certain his friend is somehow managing to misinterpret _something_ judging by the pained look on his face. “Is it?” He questions with a raised eyebrow. “Because Mark’s reasoning for needing to leave is solely based on him thinking _you_ don’t see him as anything more than a friend.” When Jackson stays suspiciously quiet, Jaebeom gives him a meaningful look. “You _do_ see him as more than a friend, right? I didn’t get that wrong?” Which he’s done before, so can you blame him for wanting to check.

It's a delayed reaction, Jackson slowly opening his mouth to croak out a ‘yes’ while his gaze stays miles away.

Jaebeom lets out a slow breath. “That’s good,” he reasons, then grimaces. “Do you think you can tell Mark that in about two hours?”

With a strange jerk of his head, Jackson comes back to the present and finds Jaebeom’s eyes. His younger friend looks both relieved and scared. He opens his mouth with a shudder. “What happened?” he grates, eyes pained. “What exactly did Mark-hyung say to you?”

The wavering doubt on Jackson’s face is hardly something he can blame the younger for, though it does make his headache spike and he rubs his forehead with a sigh. Oh well. It’s not like Mark is ever going to say this himself considering the epic hiding he’s been doing these past few years, and honestly … these two need to figure this out. Mark can be pissed at him later, when the older man is very much _not_ leaving GOT7 due to world’s biggest cover-up.

“He said he’s in love with you,” he speaks as calmly as he can, noting Jackson hangs onto his every word with wide eyes and pale skin. “And I needed to be sure you were too before I told you-” He stops, frowning when Jackson’s eyes catch on something over his left shoulder. The younger looks even more lost.

As if the stars aligned to specifically ruin Jaebeom’s night, he turns with a sinking stomach, already knowing what he’ll find. It’s not a hard guess to make.

Mark stands in the doorway, still in his jacket. His eyes seem intent on setting Jaebeom on fire, though his hands shake by his side. It’s a Mark Tuan temper-with-alcohol and Jaebeom once again berates himself for not taking his painkiller sooner.

“Hyung-” He can barely get to the end of the word before Mark’s spitting English fast enough Jaebeom’s sure he has whiplash. He pulls a face, feeling the annoyance creep in as Mark keeps glaring at him.

“Korean,” he demands. “Don’t play that game with me just because Jackson’s here.”

“He was talking to me,” Jackson croaks out when Mark stays stubbornly quiet.

The headache pounds even worse and Jaebeom groans, stepping up to Mark. “Well I’m here too!” He glares at his friend, annoyed and somewhat guilty. “If you’re mad at me just say it but I’m not letting you ruin everything over a lack of communication!”

“You just did,” Mark snaps. He’s the only one aside from Jackson who never backs down when Jaebeom gets angry. The older stands strong, eyes still red but also burning with intensity.

“Mark,” Jackson speaks softly. “Can we talk?”

“Yes,” Jaebeom answers for him, stepping around Mark and shouldering his way out. His older friend gives him a mean look.

“Thanks for the help,” Mark hisses, obviously emotional and acting on instinct.

This is where the Jaebeom from six years ago would have lost it, where he would have turned around and gotten in Mark’s face with cutting words and a nasty temper. It’s where younger-him would have forgotten what it means to be the leader.

The Jaebeom from now takes a deep breath, and ignores Mark’s hurt feelings. He simply mutters ‘you will thank me’ under his breath and stalks to his room just down the hall. He only listens for long enough to make sure Mark doesn’t run, then collapses on his bed with a bad headache and worse temper. It’s still another twenty minutes before the painkillers will be functional and he glares at his ceiling.

Sudden movement has him squinting at his left. A wet nose boops onto his forehead, followed by the soft, warm fur of a contently purring Nora. As if by magic, the tension drains from Jaebeom’s shoulder and he curls on his side, only too glad to push his face into Nora’s fur. The feline licks his hands once, then keeps purring softly.

“Thank you,” Jaebeom mumbles into her back. The headache lessens by the minute as he relaxes at her sound. He sighs. “This is what I get for having a dog-person as a friend.” He frowns at his own words. “Though Youngjae’s never this much of a handful.”

Nora meows approvingly and Jaebeom finds himself smiling into her fur, softly rubbing her side.

* * *

Whenever Jackson’s asked to describe Mark he has the answers ready. Hard-working, a loyal friend, quiet but caring, and, of course, an amazing rapper. But that’s only ever the surface of who Mark Tuan _is._ As he stands in Jaebeom’s living room, desperately trying to convince himself his leader isn’t playing a horrible prank on him, he finds many more words to describe the first, and possibly last, love of his life.

Mark is resilient, fierce, and painfully insecure. The man stands as if ready to take on the world, though the tremor in his hands betrays him. Jackson knows the tells. He knows where to look to see the truth and how to spot a well-covered lie. Whatever Mark is portraying, he’d rather be anywhere else but here. Still, Jackson takes it as a win when the other doesn’t run. Maybe Mark also feels that this isn’t something they _can’t_ talk about.

Not that that means Jackson has any clue where to start. He’s mostly just staring, feeling nauseas and like he’s stuck in a dream.

“What Jaebeom just said,” he eventually croaks. Mark visibly flinches, hands going to white-knuckled fists.

Mark shivers. “That wasn’t for him to say.” His voice is choked, like he’s fighting tears. It only frightens Jackson more, nerves exploding in his belly as he can’t figure out where Mark is going with this.

He stands feeling lost, wanting a reassurance but also wanting to reassure. Mark looks like he’s in pain. “Was it true?” He manages. His heart sinks and leaps in intervals, Mark’s stubbornness making him taste bile when the other stays quiet.

“Mark,” his voice breaks, desperation setting in.

His friend shrinks into himself, voice wet. “Yeah. It’s true.”

Relief is addicting. The rush of warmth spreads through Jackson, causing his legs to shake and he knows there’s a stupid smile on his face. “Me too,” he whispers, unable to contain the glee as sudden possibilities flood his minds. It’s a future he never dared dream of, but which always invaded his thoughts when he was lonely and scared. He does a step forward, mindful of Mark’s confused face as he assures him. “I like you too.”

It slips out without thinking, a common phrase which could never hold everything he feels, but it does something to Mark. Where there was confusion, dread swoops in, Mark stumbling a step back. Jackson stops. Now he’s the one confused. “Mark, we can-” he fumbles, only to be cut-off when Mark lets out an incredulous laugh.

“You like me,” Mark breathes in such a way Jackson’s heart skips a fearful beat. The older rapper narrows his red eyes. “You _like_ me!?”

“Ma-” he tries to undo the fury seeping into Mark’s downturned mouth but the other leaves him no room. Mark bulldozes over him with a wide sweep of his arm.

“Don’t you _dare_ , Jackson! Don’t stand there and pretend to be equals when all you have is ‘like’!” Mark, unknowingly or not, is taking steps closer as he continues with heaving breaths. “I don’t ‘like’ you, okay! I’m not getting butterflies thinking about you or lying awake at night with blushing cheeks or some shit. I sit in an interview having the time of my _life_ until someone mentions something related to _you,_ and everything just stops! Everything I’ve worked my whole damn life for, what I fought for, means shit to me because _you’re not there!”_

By now Mark is close enough Jackson is having difficulty keeping his hands to himself, though the furious eyes shining right in front of him, those dark pools that crinkle at the edges whenever Mark laughs at Jackson’s antics, are doing a marvelous job of keeping him rooted, and keeping him quiet. His heart pounds and something he can only describe as love is screaming from the inside, but the chilling truth shooting from Mark is enough to keep him completely frozen. His silence isn’t helping.

“You have nothing to say to that, huh,” Mark croaks. He’s old and young at the same time, furious and desperate and _close._ Yet Jackson has no words.

Mark smiles in a cruel way. “I guess not. Then again I knew that.” His lower lip shakes and his next breath is wet. With a crestfallen face he takes a step back, suddenly staring at Jackson with fear. “I knew that.”

The proverbial pin drops in the next silence, Mark’s face slowly morphing to regret and exhaustion even as the screaming in Jackson’s thoughts crescendos into a physically painful ‘because you’re not there’. He opens his mouth, closes it, watches how Mark ducks his head. It takes a lifetime of thoughts and only a single moment to realize Mark has convinced himself that Jackson doesn’t love him, doesn’t _need_ him. Which is ridiculous. Especially since he’s been nothing but obvious.

“You’re in my songs,” Jackson manages, voice gravelly and low. Mark still won’t raise his head, shoulders stiffening. Taking a risk, Jackson raises a hand and lightly grasps Mark’s arm. He squeezes. “You’re in my songs, all of them. Every time they mention love, they- they mention _you._ That’s _you._ At least, to me. Especially…” He hesitates because Mark is still ignoring him, then pulls himself closer, loving how Mark’s head snaps up and those wide, pissed off eyes finally find his.

In a soft voice, Jackson sings.

_“It’s the final curtain call, but if you’re ready I will give my all, for you, for you_

_Let them say it how they want, if I can love you good it’s no one’s fault.”_

Mark is openly gaping now and Jackson manages a small smile as he continues.

_“Could you love me the same_

_Tell me what makes you stay_

_There’s a hundred ways to leave a lover_

_But I’m the only one that you need.”_

He falls silent and lets his eyes linger on Mark’s lips, both their breaths fast. Jackson bites his cheek. “So when I say that I like you,” he drags his eyes up. Mark is looking at him like before, like the early years, like they’re Markson in the beginning all over again and the other needs to document every moment. It sets Jackson’s hair on end and he stumbles over his words. “When I,” he gulps as Mark’s hand comes up to fist his shirt. The almost contact burns. “Fuck, Mark,” Jackson breaths. His legs are shaking. “Stop looking at me like that, I’m trying to prove a point here.

Mark hasn’t blinked once since Jackson started singing. He leans even closer now, body warm in its proximity, and says. “Are you trying to prove that you have the ability to drive me crazy, because I already knew that.”

With a mind of its own, Jackson’s body closes the distance. His hands grab Mark’s shoulders, digging into the leather until it creaks to hold the suddenly slack man in place. Arousal, fear and years of doubt literally burst out of Jackson as he tastes the lingering red wine on Mark’s chapped lips. Within barely a second, Mark’s pushing back, quite literally until their stumbling ends with Jackson’s back hitting the wall.

The moan low in Mark’s throat does dizzying things to Jackson’s thoughts meaning he breaks away, already regretting doing so. But if they take this any further in Jaebeom’s living room his friend will kill them.

“Mark,” he pants, legitimately _pants_ , as he’s still blinking the world back into place. “You,-” he shakes Mark’s shoulders, finally finding those wide-blown eyes,- “drive me to the brink of insanity and back.” Just because he can, he curls one hand in Mark’s long hair, grinning when Mark leans into it. “And when I say I like you,” Jackson finally explains. “I mean I can’t possibly imagine my life without you in it. And that you’re way too fucking gorgeous.”

A smirk slides onto Mark’s expression, though the edge is taken off by the tears on his cheeks. “Maybe you should have said that, then.”

“It’s not enough,” Jackson promises him. “To describe how I feel about you, it’s nowhere near enough.”

Mark bites his lip, seemingly nervous. “Then how about you kiss me again.”

The thrill that simple sentence sends down Jackson’s spine is nothing like anything he’s felt before and he swears he can drown in Mark and die a happy man. “That might come close.”

And then he shuts up, because this time Mark kisses him, and Jaebeom might end up killing them after all.

* * *

_(A little over four months later)_

* * *

“So, what do you think?” Jackson bounces in his seat, face make-up free and taking up most of Mark’s laptop screen as the younger peers eagerly into the camera. Mark gives his boyfriend two seconds to sweat before he lets the smile take over his face, giving a nod of approval.

“It’s good,” he assures a whooping Jackson. “I really like it.”

At that Jackson raises a suggestive eyebrow. “You _like it_ , huh?”

“Mind, gutter,” Mark smirks at him, then sticks his tongue out at Jackson’s grumbles which prompts a round of laughter from both of them. Mark settles back a bit more in his seat, absentmindedly playing with the strings on his hoodie. It still stings to be away from Jackson for months at a time, but at least their video calls are frequent enough to keep most of the heartache at bay. Also, there’s the ‘songs for you in all but name’ thing that’s nothing but an endless well of joy for Mark, which seems to make Jackson happy as well.

“Ah, I’m glad you like it,” the younger sighs, stretching his arms. “I tried really hard on this one, you know.” He grins. “It’s for you.”

“No way,” Mark gasps, making his reaction as dramatic as he can. “It’s for _me?_ I had no _idea!?”_

Jackson rolls his eyes. “Born comedian is what you are. Very funny.”

“Jack, come on,” he giggles and shakes his head. “You released it on my _birthday_. I’d have to be blind and deaf to miss that one.”

Jackson pouts, a light coloring on his cheeks that makes Mark warm on the inside. If only it weren’t for the computer in between them.

“Hey Jack,” Mark whispers, receiving the wide-eyed look that makes his boyfriend a decade younger. Mark grins. “I love you too.”

With a high-pitched laugh, Jackson flushes maroon, smile so wide it almost splits his face. “You’re such a sap,” he complains in full on giggles.

“Yup,” Mark agrees easily, feeling the familiar burn in his chest and cursing the distance between them. Their relationship may only be a few months old, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like Mark should be able to hop on a plane to go hug his boyfriend after a success like his newest single, the rest of the world be damned. But, reality never takes too long to drop in. Still. Having Jackson in any way is already heaven compared to before. Mark will make it work.

“It’s probably a good thing no one sees us like this,” Jackson sighs with a smile. “We’d lose our street-cred.”

Mark snorts, unable to keep from rolling his eyes at Jackson’s angelic grin. “What street-cred? You made my nickname Markiepooh, remember. I don’t think _anyone_ would be shocked to see us like this.”

The words make Jackson frown, suddenly looking insecure. “You think so?”

Which is a much heavier question than simple nickname shenanigans. One they both struggle with, a nagging doubt that simmers underneath their joy and Mark gives the only promise he can. “The people that matter won’t be. I know you know that.”

Jackson deflates. “It won’t be easy,” he says like a practiced line, thoughts turning inward. “Some people will disagree-”

“Let them!” Mark shouts, barely refraining from punching his desk. The fist hovers in the air, slowly sinking when Jackson’s shock registers. This is not what he wanted. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” He swallows the rest, the apology feeling useless when Jackson looks so suddenly serious. It’s a painful contrast with the beginning of this conversation.

After a tense two second silence, Mark blurts out a confession that’s been on the tip of his tongue for weeks. “You’re not the only one writing songs about us.”

It visibly derails Jackson, making him blink in confusion as he stares through the screen. With a deep breath, Mark feels back in control and shifts in his seat. “Remember ‘outta my head’?” He gives the younger a meaningful look.

“Oh,” Jackson breathes, sagging. “You mean that was about me?”

Mark nods, remembering the confusion and painful determination he felt back then. “I thought it was the only way to keep GOT7 running smoothly. That if I could forget about it all, everything would work out.” He glares at his keyboard. “I hated that decision and I hate the fact that I made it, but I can’t change the past.” He finds Jackson looking at him with such care that the next words are easier than he thought they’d be. “So if people want to find issue with us than I say let them, because I’m not losing you for anything.”

“Well, that’s good,” Jackson sounds as choked up as he feels, a wavering smile on Mark’s computer screen making his eyes sting. The younger leans closer to the camera, chin in his hand. “Because you’re stuck with me Markie, for a really long time.”

Mark snorts, attempting to hide behind his hands. The tension from before slowly seeps out of his muscles. “Now who’s being a sap,” he mumbles, peeking at Jackson’s soft smile.

“Never said that was a bad thing.”

They both giggle, exhaustion pulling on Mark’s eyelids as the last of the previous emotions simmer down. It’s not the last they’ll talk about it, but Mark has hope they can figure it out.

“Can’t believe you wrote that song about your feelings for me,” Jackson hums, looking sleepy as well. “Kinda makes me wonder how something like that would sound now.”

Mark huffs. A small tendril of happy anticipation flutters in his chest as he takes in his sleepy boyfriend. “Soon,” he promises, loving the smile that blooms on Jackson’s face. “You’ll know soon.”

Because Jackson is one in a fucking million, and Mark will make sure the other knows.


End file.
